


Extraneous Costs

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Argentina, Broken nose, Gen, Grit in the lens, alternate POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trouble with playing favourites, Jim long ago acknowledged, is that sometimes even they fuck up.</p><p>A companion piece to TheGhostofEurope's "Too Much to Swallow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extraneous Costs

**Author's Note:**

> A story from the Grit in the Lens universe, a dual story-telling project in which TheGhostofEurope, who started the project, writes from the point of view of Sebastian, and I write from the point of view of Jim. The general idea of this project being to examine the flawed (or not-so-flawed) ways in which each character views the other.

             On the way back to the hotel, I cracked the passenger side window, the tang of coastal Argentina mingling with the sourly metallic odour of rapidly clotting blood. The smell persisted as we crossed the hotel lobby; Sebastian was already light-headed and struggling to keep up with my pace as I hurried into the nearest elevator before the sight and scent of crusted blood could be detected by bystanders. Once inside, Sebastian slumped against the wall as the numbers slowly ticked off towards our floor.

            _Ground_

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

             The doors slid open, and hounded by Sebastian’s increasingly shuffling footsteps, I made the journey down the hall and into the room, slipping inside before locking it securely again. Sebastian made a bee-line for the lavatory, the lock clicking as soon as he was out of sight, and toeing off my shoes, I switched on the television, the slow crawl of a tiger through a thicket not quite enough to cover the soft moans coming from the bathroom. My jaw clenched, unclenched, and muting the sound, I slipped over to the closed bathroom door.

             One knock was all he was going to get.

             “Seb.” I allowed my voice to cushion itself on the exhalation that came with the shortened form of the name. It sounded almost comforting that way, less irritated.

             The startled gasp on the other side of the door was far more audible than intended, then quickly followed up with what I supposed was an attempt at a gruff response.

             “No, go away. I’m taking a piss.”

             I rolled my eyes. If there was one thing that would have overpowered the scent of old blood, it was urine. “No you’re not.” No response. Allowing a soft huff of breath to escape my lips, I drummed my fingers on the door handle. “Come on, let me in.”

             “I’m in nothin’.”

             It was an effort not to laugh at this latest attempt at deterrence. Leaning against the doorframe, I considered my options. It would be simple enough to simply pop the lock with the room key or a credit card, but if he was going to be stubborn, I owed it to him to give him a show.

             I glanced at the fire alarm.

             The lock popped.

              _Ah well._

             Hand still over his nose, Sebastian glared at me as I slipped inside, nudging the door closed with his foot before turning his back on me, his eyes still watching me in the mirror as his hands moved mechanically, turning on the faucet and gripping the edge of the countertop until his knuckles turned a sickly shade of white.

             “Here to call me an idiot a few more times?” His lips curled into what was either a snarl or a grimace of pain – likely both.

             Perching on the edge of the tub, I watched as the skin around his eyes and nose, already swollen, began shifting colours as the beginnings of deep violet bruises blossomed around his eyes. The effect was somewhat owlish and I felt my lips twitch slightly as steam crept across the mirror. Leaning an elbow against my knee, I cupped my chin in one hand, glancing at the bloodied heap of clothing on the floor.

              _Ruined._

             “You’ve cost me quite a bit of money so far.” I flicked my wrist towards the pile, pausing for the tell-tale twitch of muscle that would affirm that he had followed my gesture before continuing. “I feed you, I house you, I clothe you.”

             Pushing off from the sink, Sebastian lurched to the toilet with all the coordination of a drunk and grabbed a roll of tissue from the top of the tank before returning to the vanity. “Jus’ a minute.” The words were accompanied by a violent, hacking noise and a flash of crimson disappearing into the sink.

             I almost continued, but then immediately halted as another violent, liquid noise signalled his blowing his nose into a sizable clump of tissue. Another sudden rush of red and I could all but _taste_ the blood clot as the odour filled the room anew.

             He coughed, then spoke, his voice raspy and flecked with blood and mucous. “Now’s definitely not the time to tell me you don’t cover doctor’s visits.”

             At this, I almost barked a laugh at the prospect of sending any of my hired guns to a doctor’s office and almost said so, except that he was blowing his nose again, his eyes streaming.

             “Wait a sec.” He prodded the bridge of his nose with a finger and every muscle in his body tensed, almost as if it anticipated his next move as he tilted his head back.

             Slipping out of the bathroom and into the small kitchenette in time to hear Sebastian’s muffled cursing and the sound and scent of what could only be blood hitting hot water, I looked around for a First Aid kit. No luck, only a notice that “First Aid supplies can be found downstairs in the lobby.”

             Gritting my teeth, I dialled the front desk, easily slipping into the honeyed tones of the eccentric English tourist as soon as I received an answer.

             “Hello, front desk.”

             “Hello, this is Mr. Angier in Room 401 – would it be possible to have some medical tape brought up?”

             The woman’s tone changed to one of mild alarm. “Do you require assistance?”

             “Oh no, love,” I reassured her, laughing and adopting the same tone I might use with a pet, “Just send the tape right up.”

             After receiving assurance that it would indeed be arriving shortly, I went about peeling the now-damp socks from my feet, one eye on the bathroom door, the other on the still-muted television. There was something on about spiders now. Not as interesting as the tiger, but not bad. Eventually the tape arrived in unison with a startled noise in the bathroom. After tipping the girl who brought it, I re-locked the door, and slackening my tie, padded back over to the closed door, not bothering to knock this time before going inside and tossing the tape to Sebastian.

             The bleeding at least had stopped, but his nose was hopelessly crooked as he frowned at me from across the bathroom, as flipping the lid down, I seated myself atop the toilet, tenting my fingers, more out of habit than anything. Finally, after a moment or two, Sebastian spoke, his voice sounding more like itself again.

             “You’re mad at me.”

             In an effort not to snort – as if this were worth being angry over – I merely hummed quietly in response.

             He frowned again, running his fingertips over his broken nose. “Frustrated, then.”

             “Ooh, looks like you’re good at seeing the obvious now,” I felt my lips twitch into an unseen sneer, “I always _knew_ you were smart.”

             Grunting, Sebastian ignored me and began washing his face off – or rather he ignored the obvious jab at his intelligence. The tension in his bearing and the way every hair on his body stood on end gave away that he more than felt my eyes on his back. He exhaled again, grabbing the empty soap box and beginning to rip it up.

              _Makeshift splint. Not bad._

             “You’re not going to let me go to a hospital, are you?”

             I refused to dignify the question with a response.

             “There’s only so much I can do, you know?” He examined the tape, and then looked back at his nose. “It’s going to start swelling and itching, and I’ll probably knock it out of place and have to re-set it. I’m going to have two black eyes.”

             I resisted the urge to point out that it was a little late for the swelling and black eyes.

             “Not to mention I hit my head.”

             This, I considered as he fastened the makeshift splint to his face using my tape, was new information. Irrelevant to the outcome, but new information nonetheless. Tapping my feet on the fake linoleum impatiently, I shrugged. “Yes, well I’m sure you’ll look better with a broken nose anyway.”

             Sebastian laughed the semi-hysterical, sickly laugh of the man who knows he has no other choice. “Charming,” he retorted, his lips twitching into a crooked smile.

             I looked back at him, deliberately ignoring his humour.

             He sighed. “I get it, I get it. No fucking around, stop fucking up.” He paused, “Now get out, I’m nearly naked.”

             It didn’t take a second request. Slipping from the bathroom, I returned to the bed, where the television was still playing the spider documentary and a large female spider sucked her mate dry onscreen.


End file.
